


En Pointe

by ThatRavenclawBitch



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Ballet Teacher Belle, Curse AU, Detective Weaver - Freeform, F/M, Season 7 AU, Woven Beauty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-14 17:13:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20604380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatRavenclawBitch/pseuds/ThatRavenclawBitch
Summary: A Season 7 AU where Belle is Lucy's ballet teacher Isabelle Schwartz. She has a run-in with Detective Weaver after he ruins her students' recital in 7x02.Spawned from tumblr prompts and collected here. Feel free to shoot me a prompt on tumblr.





	1. Chapter 1

Weaver bit back a smile as Henry Mills pulled his keys from his pocket. So Rogers had a spine after all. He was impressed.

He watched as Henry stalked away, one of the caterers coming to check on his bruised cheek. Suddenly he felt someone smack him in the shoulder. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” 

Weaver wheeled around, his eyes dropping to land on a tiny, albeit furious woman. His breath caught for a moment, the sight of her hitting him like a steam train. There was something so familiar about her dark hair, pulled up into a bun, a few tendrils escaping to frame her frankly exquisite face. Her blue eyes were flashing with anger and her pink lips were set in an angry line and the expression looked wrong on her. She should be smiling, eyes dancing. He had no memory of the woman, but he felt as though he should. 

She pulled her hand back, smacking him in the shoulder again and snapping him back to reality. 

“Are you assaulting a police officer?” he demanded, torn between annoyance and amusement. 

“I’ll do you worse than that,” she exclaimed, raising her hand to hit him once more. Weaver caught it, easily, holding her by the wrist as she veritably shook with anger. 

“Do you have any idea how long my girls worked on this performance?” she snarled out, unfazed by his grip on her arm. “And you come in at the end to steal their thunder, accusing innocent caterers of theft? You owe every one of those girls an apology!”

Ah, the ballet teacher, Weaver surmised. She looked the part, tiny and lithe, long legged beneath the hem of her rather short skirt. He let his eyes slide over her and back up to her face only to find her mouth fallen open in outrage. 

“Are you checking me out?” she exclaimed, yanking her arm out of his grip. 

Weaver just inclined his head to the side. “Assessing the danger you possess if you keep trying to throttle me,” he said. “I’d say it’s minimal.” 

The ballerina let out a exclamation of disgust, her head rolling back to stare up at the ceiling before she looked back at him with more composure.

“Apologize to my girls, alright Detective?” she said. “Do that and you’ll never hear from me again.” 

Weaver raised an eyebrow. 

“Well that would be a shame,” he said with a half smile. “I didn’t even catch your name.” 

The ballerina blinked at him, confusion crossing her lovely features. 

“Isabelle Schwartz,” she said after a moment. 

“Well, Miss Schwartz, lead on,” he said, waving a hand past her. “I believe I owe some burgeoning young dancers an apology.” 

Isabelle blinked her astonishing eyes at him, seemingly surprised he’d agreed to her terms. 

“Oh…okay,” she said, turning to head to the stage where the children were congregated. Weaver followed wondering just how charming he’d have to be to get her to agree to a drink at the end of this. 


	2. Chapter 2

She wasn’t sure what she was doing here, in a hospital, on Halloween night. She had an early class tomorrow. Her three years olds were always a handful and she was certain they would be even more so after a night of trick or treating and binging candy. She should really be getting home to dinner and an early night. 

But there’d been a report on the TV. A police officer shot in the old train yard. They’d flashed up a picture of Detective Weaver and before Isabelle knew what she was doing she’d pulled on her coat and set off to Hyperion General. 

For God’s sake, she barely knew the man. They’d had one run in a few weeks ago at her 11 year olds’ recital. Afterward he’d talked to the girls, regaled them, made them laugh. He’d been so charming that when he asked her to Roni’s for a drink after the girls had left she’d been tempted to accept. But his brutish behavior earlier in the night had stopped her. She’d refused and he’d left with a promise to see her around.

She hadn’t seen him since, until that news report. Suddenly she’d felt compelled. Like the balance of the universe, fate and chance and forces beyond herself, all hinged on making sure Detective Weaver was alright. She’d thought about how things might be if she’d agreed to that drink. If she’d been with him tonight, at dinner or a movie, and he’d been far away from bullets and blood. 

So here she was, breathing in the scent of antiseptic that always permeated a hospital waiting room, the temperature just a little too cold to be comfortable. She rubbed her palms against her arms, the soft fabric of her teddy coat soothing her frayed nerves slightly. 

The nurse told her which room he was in and she scrambled down the hallway, past Weaver’s partner and a young, blonde woman playing chess. He hadn’t been alone then. That was good. 

The door to the room was cracked open and Isabelle peeked in. Weaver was lying on the bed, still as death, with his eyes closed. A steady beeping coming from the machines he was hooked up to was the only thing that assured her he was alive. Weaver wasn’t a large man, but he looked even smaller than usual in the oversized hospital gown, lying under a thin green blanket. She bit her lip, tears forming in her eyes unbidden. 

For Christ’s sake, she barely knew him! Why should she cry over a maybe, a might have been if she’d been a little less stubborn and he a little more level headed. 

She took a deep breath, turning to leave, she really should let him rest, when she heard something. 

“Belle?” she heard weakly from the bed. 

She turned back, swiping at the tears in her eyes. Weaver was awake, his droopy eyes watching her from across the room, and she walked forward hesitantly. At least he remembered her name. 

“Yeah,” she said, reaching his bedside. “It’s Isabelle. Isabelle Schwartz. We met a few weeks ago…”

She trailed off, feeling exceptionally stupid. Certainly he had family, friends, people he actually wanted to see on his sickbed rather than a stupid girl who felt too much concern for a stranger. 

“Where’s Gideon?” he asked, shaking his head slightly. Isabelle glanced around at the empty room. 

“Is that your partner?” she asked, motioning to the hallway outside. “I can get him if you want.” 

Weaver looked up at her, confused for a moment, before his features cleared, a smile crossing his face. He shook his head again. 

“Belle,” he said, reaching for her hand. Isabelle let him take it, enjoying the feel of his rough hand around her smaller one. “I’m so glad you’re here.” 

Isabelle just nodded. She was glad she was here too. 


	3. Chapter 3

Isabelle made her way home much later than expected. She’d stayed at Weaver’s bedside for over an hour, talking about her life and her friends and her dance classes. He’d held her hand the whole time, not seeming to want to let go. 

It was strange. Usually she shied away from male attention. She wasn’t looking for a boyfriend, certainly, and even if she had been, Detective Weaver was hardly the right choice. But there was something familiar about him, something comfortable. She’d rambled on for far too long but he’d just looked at her like she was something special, someone who mattered. When she finally left when visiting hours ended at 9:00 she thought perhaps she’d made a new friend, if nothing else. She could certainly use more. 

Isabelle let herself into her apartment, the low hum of the TV coming from the den. Roni poked her head out into the entry hall, giving her a concerned look. 

“Everything okay?” she asked. 

Isabelle nodded, dropping her purse by the front door and kicking off her heeled booties with one hand braced against the wall. 

“Yeah,” she said, shrugging her coat off as well. “Sorry I called on such short notice.”

Roni just waved a hand at her as she stepped out into the entryway. 

“No problem at all,” she said. “He was an angel. Went right to sleep no problem.”

Isabelle breathed a sigh of relief. She’d just finished up trick or treating with Eli when she’d seen the report on Weaver’s shooting. She’d run down to the bar next door to beg Roni to babysit before heading out. It was entirely unlike her and it was right for Roni to be concerned. 

“Did you make sure he brushed his teeth?” she asked. “He had a lot of candy tonight.” 

Roni just leveled her with a look. “This isn’t my first rodeo,” she said. “He’s fine. Now what’s going on with you?” 

Isabelle sighed, making her way down the hall to the kitchen. Roni followed after her, the click of her boot heels on the hardwood floor letting her know she wasn’t getting off easy. 

“Do you know Detective Weaver?” she asked, heading to the fridge and pulling out a half drunk bottle of pinot noir. 

Roni braced her hands against the small kitchen island, looking hesitant. 

“He’s been known to drown his sorrows in my bar, yes,” she said with a nod. “Why?” 

Isabelle popped the cork out of the wine and poured herself a glass before waggling the bottle at Roni. 

“Why not,” Roni agreed and Isabelle grabbed another glass from the cabinet, pouring out the remnants of the bottle and pushing it across the island to her friend. 

Isabelle took a fortifying sip of wine, setting her glass down with a clink against the faux marble surface of the island. 

“He got shot tonight.” 

Roni’s eyes widened and she sputtered on her wine. 

“What?” she exclaimed. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah,” Isabelle said with a nod. “He’s gonna be fine. I spent all evening sitting with him.” 

Roni shook her head confusedly. 

“How do you know Weaver?” she asked. 

“He, uh, made a scene at one of my recitals a few weeks back.” 

Roni cocked an eyebrow at her. 

“And that’s the solid basis for a relationship?” 

Isabelle’s eyes widened. “We’re not in a relationship!” she cried. “I barely know him. I just…I don’t know. When I saw he’d been hurt, I felt like I had to be there. I can’t explain it. It’s like there’s a connection somehow.” 

Roni was looking at her with narrowed eyes. She set her wineglass down, reaching across the island to take Isabelle’s hand. 

“Be careful,” she said. “Weaver’s not the nicest man in the world. I don’t want to see you get hurt.” 

Isabelle snorted. “I’m not gonna marry the guy,” she said with a laugh. “And trust me, I’ve seen his bad side. I just don’t think that’s all there is to him. You should have seen him with my girls. He was funny and charming. He asked me out and for the first time in a long time I kind of wanted to say yes.” 

Roni rolled her eyes. “He’s dangerous is what he is,” she said. “Stay away from him, Iz. You’ve got more to worry about than just yourself.” 

Roni looked pointedly down the hall toward Eli’s room and Isabelle’s shoulders sagged. 

“You’re right,” she agreed. “I mean, what are the odds of him wanting a single mum anyway, right?” 

“Izzy…” Roni began, but Isabelle just shook her head. 

“Thanks for everything, Roni,” she said. 

After Roni had finished her wine and collected her jacket to run back across to the bar, Isabelle slipped down the hall, peeking in on Eli through the crack in the door. He was sound asleep, the orange glow of his triceratops nightlight illuminating his sweet little face. 

Six years ago she’d gotten pregnant, ruining both her ballet career and her relationship with a boyfriend who did not want to be a father. She’d never regretted it though. Eli was everything, and she loved her job sharing her passion for dance with the next generation. She didn’t date much, though she occasionally got an offer, usually from fathers of her students. She never felt like she was missing out, until recently. 

Isabelle shook her head, tiptoeing away from Eli’s room and across the hall to her own. Once Weaver found out she had a kid, his interest would evaporate like so many others. And that was fine. 

She had a good life and she couldn’t complain. 


	4. Chapter 4

It had been a week since Isabelle had visited Weaver in the hospital and she hadn’t seen him since.

She’d decided to give him his space, time to heal from his wounds without the interference of a meddlesome neighbor. She also had Roni’s warnings ringing in her ear, no matter that she couldn’t stop thinking about the man in question.

He was dangerous, Roni had said. She could certainly see that. The man had a temper on him to be sure. He’d elbowed that poor caterer in the face at the recital, had growled and snarled at Jacinda Vidrio for no good reason. She’d been appalled at his behavior, angry at the way he’d thrown his badge and position around in an effort to intimidate.

But she couldn’t forget the way she’d felt when she saw the news report, the icy sliver of fear that had lanced through her at the thought of him lying in a gutter somewhere, bleeding to death.

Isabelle shook her head. He was a detective. Danger was part and parcel of his job. If Weaver ever asked her out again, if she said yes, she’d have to deal with that. Another part of her wondered if he had anyone to worry about him at all. The way he had clung to her hand in the hospital made her think not.

There was something, a bone deep certainty, that told Isabelle that Weaver needed her. She had to follow it through, despite the warnings.

She knew he was being discharged today. Weaver’s partner, Rogers, had told her so when she’d run into him on the street outside the station that morning. She hadn’t expected to see him so soon though.

She was just finishing up with her five year olds, the little girls in tutus and boys in tights running to meet their parents out in the hall, when Weaver arrived on her doorstep.

“Alison,” she called after one of the little girls. “Don’t forget your bag!”

The little girl doubled back, picking up a Trolls backpack before heading back out the door. The crowd dissipated as Isabelle reset the room, picking up the streamers the children had been playing with and tossing them into a plastic bin. She turned back to the doorway, sensing someone there, only to see Weaver, smiling softly at her. She jumped, the plastic bin nearly toppling to the ground.

“Detective Weaver,” she exclaimed, as he walked in to her studio. He certainly didn’t look like someone who’d just been shot. He was wearing a navy blue button down shirt over jeans, a brown leather jacket overtop. There was no sling, no obvious bandaging. He didn’t look as though he’d been injured at all, his graying brown hair artfully disheveled and his eyes crinkling at the corners as he watched her.

Meanwhile, she was a mess, no makeup and wearing her leotard and wrap skirt over tights that she always wore to teach. Her hair was pulled up in a messy bun and her hand came up to smooth back the tendrils that had escaped during the class.

“Miss Schwartz,” he replied, stepping in front of her as he glanced around the studio, taking in the wall of mirrors, the old piano shoved into one corner, the open closet filled with bins of materials.

“You’re looking really well,” she said, running her hand down over her skirt, the fluttery fabric sticking to her suddenly sweaty palm. Weaver’s brow lifted at the compliment and she shook her head. “You know, considering.”

“Considering the bullet,” he said with a smirk. “Well, I’ve had worse.”

Isabelle’s eyes widened. “Worse than being shot point blank in the chest?” she exclaimed.

Weaver gave a little shrug of his shoulder. “When you’ve lived the life I’ve lived, worse is relative.”

The life he’d lived, a detective in the Seattle PD. He’d probably seen all sorts of things she couldn’t even imagine. She wondered if he’d been shot before. She didn’t think she could stomach the answer.

Silence stretched on between them, different from the other night in the hospital where conversation had come so easily.

“I’m sorry—” she began at the same time Weaver said “Look, I’ve –”

They both cut off, looking at each other expectantly. Isabelle let out a laugh at the awkward silence that followed.

“Sorry,” she said with a shake of her head. “You go first.”

Weaver nodded, shuffling his feet a little nervously, his thumb and forefinger rubbing together in a motion that seemed so familiar though she couldn’t quite place it.

“I was wondering if you’d reconsider that drink,” he said. “I know you said no before, with good reason. And if that’s still your answer, I promise not to bother you again. But I had to…check.”

“Yes,” Isabelle said immediately, her tongue responding before her brain had a chance to catch up. “I mean, no. I mean, yes I would like to, but no I can’t.”

Weaver stared at her, his eyes running over her face as if he could read her every thought. Rather than making it uncomfortable it felt reassuring, like she could tell him anything and he wouldn’t judge her.

“Ah,” Weaver said, his face falling slightly. “I see.”

“No,” she said with a shake of her head. “You don’t. I would really like to have a drink with you, but it can be hard to find a babysitter at such late notice.”

She let the words hang in the air, Weaver staring at her, his eyes widening ever so slightly.

“I have a kid,” she continued. “It seems only fair to let you know that.”

Weaver’s smile at her words was unexpected, more so that it could only be described as relieved. A huff of laughter left him, his tongue darting out to wet his lower lip. It was rather distracting.

“You have a child,” he said, his smile widening. “That’s wonderful.”

“It is?” Isabelle couldn’t help but ask. “Most men tend to run the other way when they find out.”

Weaver just shook his head. “I love children.”

“Oh,” Isabelle said, shifting the plastic bin in her hands to rest on her hip. “Do you have any?”

Weaver’s eyes shuttered, his smile faltering, and she almost immediately regretted asking.

“Yeah,” he said after a moment. “Two boys. My older son, he, uh, passed away. Several years ago now.”

Isabelle gasped, her grip on the plastic bin loosening until it fell to the floor with a clatter.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, stepping closer to Weaver. She couldn’t imagine what it was like to lose a child, the kind of scar that left on a person. The thought of ever losing Eli sent a chill straight through her, a horror she couldn’t fathom..

Weaver just gave her a sad smile, looking down to where her hand had reached for his without her even realizing. He took it, his thumb stroking lightly across her palm and sending a completely different type of shiver through her. She was standing so close to him she could feel the heat of him, smell the masculine scent of his cologne.

“Thank you,” he said, looking back up to meet her eyes, the soft brown color so familiar. With a jolt she realized his eyes were almost the exact same color as Eli’s. Perhaps that was why she was so drawn to him. “My younger son, he’s with his mother and I haven’t seen him in some time.”

“You must miss him terribly,” she said. She seemed unable to draw her hand back from his, just standing in the middle of her studio, holding hands with a detective she barely knew and standing closer to him than was strictly necessary.

“I do,” he agreed. “But I’m hoping to see him soon.”

His hand tightened around hers, the words seemingly full of meaning she didn’t understand. A moment later, he’d dropped her hand and stepped away again, leaving her feeling chilled.

“Look,” Weaver said, bringing his hands together to clasp lightly in front of him. “I know that dating with a child can be hard, so why don’t we do something all of us together?”

Isabelle just blinked at him.

“You want to bring my son on our date?”

Weaver just shrugged. “If that would make things easier on you, why not?”

Isabelle considered it for a moment. It would be easier to take Eli with them, to do something he would enjoy. She wasn’t sure about introducing her son to someone so early though. She might never have a second date with the man. But if Eli was with them it wasn’t really like a date at all. They could be friends and friends could meet your children.

“Alright,” she agreed finally. “Eli is five and a half and he loves dinosaurs and the aquarium.”

“The aquarium it is,” he said with a nod. “Why don’t I pick the two of you up on Saturday, say 1:00?”

“Okay,” Isabelle found herself agreeing. Weaver just nodded again.

“I look forward to it,” he said, and then he turned and left the studio with a little spring in his step.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jackabelle73 said: Weaver sent Alice to check up on Belle & Gideon. What does she have to say when she reports back to him?

Alice Jones, or Tilly as she was known in Hyperion Heights, was an invaluable resource.

Detective Weaver had known as much, keeping her in his employ with a steady stream of sandwiches and pocket money. Now that she’d up and shot him, and forgotten the reason why thanks to a heavy dose of medication from Victoria Belfry, she was even willing to work for free. Not that Rumple was inclined to let her.

He’d given her Belle’s chipped cup back in the New Enchanted Forest in the hopes that her unique brand of magic would allow her some immunity to the curse and the totem of true love would be enough to wake him. He’d been right about her immunity, but it manifested in fits of clarity, confusion, almost madness. It wasn’t unlike Jefferson during Regina’s first curse. Living with two lives in your head, unsure which one was real, was too much for anyone to take.

Tilly had dropped the cup before it had a chance to work. Rumple would have to go collect the smashed pieces from Tilly's boxcar soon. He couldn't bear to think of that little cup having such an inauspicious end. 

“Sandwich,” Rumple said, handing a paper bag to Tilly as she bounded into his office on Friday morning. His date with Belle was set for the following day and despite knowing she had a five year old son, he still needed to know for certain it was Gideon. He’d sent Tilly to check in on things and she was due with her report.

“Thank you, Detective,” she said, snatching the bag out of his hand and plopping down into Rogers’ empty chair opposite from him. She dug the marmalade sandwich out of the bag, taking a big bite with a hum of satisfaction.

“So good,” she grinned through a mouth full of sticky marmalade.

“I’m so glad you’re enjoying your breakfast, but do you have a report for me?”

Tilly rolled her eyes, setting the sandwich down on the crumpled paper bag.

“Yeah, the ballet teacher has a kid,” she said with a shrug. “A little boy.”

Rumple nodded. “And?”

“And what?” Tilly asked. “He’s cute. Brown hair, skinny legs, kind of tall for his age. His dad must be tall because the mum is downright tiny.”

Weaver breathed a sigh of relief, sitting back in his chair. The child was definitely Gideon then.

“Why are you so interested in them?” Tilly asked through another mouthful of sandwich. “I saw her in the hospital the night you…” she trailed off, looking sheepish before motioning at him.

“The night I was shot by an unseen assailant,” he finished for her.

Tilly nodded.

“Is she a friend?” she asked.

Rumple took a breath, choosing his words carefully.

“An acquaintance,” he said finally. “Perhaps more.”

Tilly’s eyebrows shot up, and she let out a little cough, almost choking on her sandwich. She swallowed, wiping her mouth on the sleeve of her utility jacket. 

“Why Detective Weaver, do you have a lady friend?” she asked, her blue eyes wide.

“I have a date,” he admitted.

Tilly clapped her hands together. “You have a date!” she exclaimed, and Rumple shot a look to his open office door, hoping no one was listening in.

“And you seem more excited than I do about it,” he grumbled. 

Tilly just shrugged. “I admit I didn’t think I’d ever see the day. You’re not very social. I kind of assumed you didn’t like women.”

Rumple just looked at her flatly.

“What did you assume I liked?” he asked.

“Rogers,” she said succinctly.

At Rumple’s disgusted face she continued. “He’s the only person I ever see you with.”

“He’s my partner,” he shot back. The idea that anyone would ever in a hundred years think he was romantically interested in any version of Captain Hook sent his head spinning.

Tilly just shrugged again. “I tend to assume everyone is gay until proven otherwise.”

“I like women,” he countered. “Well, one woman.”

Tilly gave him a wide smile. “So this is serious then,” she said. “She’s definitely cute, Isabelle. Way out of your league.”

Rumple rolled his eyes. He was well aware of how lucky he’d been with Belle. He only hoped his attempts to woo her cursed counterpart went better this round than they did with Lacey.

Not that he and Lacey hadn’t had their share of fun.

“You’re smiling,” Tilly pointed out, and Rumple snapped back to himself. “Man you’ve got it bad. To think, you’ve had me out doing recon for your date. You know you could just ask her about her life like a normal person instead.”

“I will,” he said defensively. He just couldn’t come right out and ask to see a photo of her son. And he couldn’t wait until Saturday for confirmation that Eli was Gideon. But now he knew, and he could rest easy. Mother and child were together and soon they would all be a family again.

“I couldn’t find out anything about the kid’s father, if you’re curious,” Tilly said, finishing up the last bite of her sandwich and crumpling up the paper bag to toss it in the wastebasket beneath Rogers’ desk. “Isabelle seems like a loner for the most part. No boyfriends or anything.”

She wouldn’t have done, of course. She was sitting across from “Eli’s” father. He wondered what Isabelle’s cursed memories provided on that front. Was it hazy or was there a concrete memory associated with Eli’s father? A one-night stand or a prolonged relationship? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“I don’t care about that,” he said.

“No,” Tilly said with a grin. “You just care about _Isabelle_.”

She followed up her declaration with kissy noises and Rumple went back to the case file spread out on his desk. He was being teased for taking his wife of nearly a decade on a date. He couldn’t wait for this curse to break.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took an age. In which Detective Weaver meets Eli!

It was a relief unlike anything Rumple had ever known to hear that Gideon had been safely with Belle for the past year. He’d hoped, of course. He’d given her the white elephant when they knew the curse was on its way, a totem that would ensure mother and child remained together while he was tossed asunder. But magic was tricky and curses were powerful. Nothing was a sure thing. Luckily, the white elephant had done its job.

The relief didn’t mend the heartbreak at the realization that he’d missed a full year of his boy’s life, however. He seemed doomed to always be separated from his children. At least he’d found Gideon now. What was one year in a lifetime? Now that he’d found his family, he’d make sure they were never apart again.

Life had been wonderful after he and Belle had gotten their son back. They’d spent a few years exploring the Land Without Magic before venturing to other realms. They’d been on holiday in Arendelle when they’d received a frantic SOS from Henry. A short portal trip later they’d been confronted by Regina, a Hook who wasn’t really Hook, a much older Henry, and a nine-year-old girl who was apparently his great-granddaughter. While Rumple’s head was still spinning from time travel, they’d been presented with a coven of witches, an evil plot, and a noblewoman who reminded him entirely too much of Cora.

A month later a new dark curse had been cast and he’d spent the past year in the haze of being Detective Weaver.

They should have just stayed put in Arendelle. Princess Anna’s disapproving looks were nothing to losing a full year of his life.

But he was awake now. Alice had seen to that. He wished she hadn’t been forced to go with the nuclear option of shooting him point blank to get the job done, but he was little worse for the wear, his shoulder and the right side of his chest still aching from the bullet that had passed through them. He flexed his shoulder, feeling the pull of the stitches in his back. He would heal, his curse ensured it even in this land with limited magic. He couldn’t die, not now and not ever.

But Belle and Gideon could.

His immortality had weighed heavily on him in a way it never had before as he watched his son grow. Belle was still young, but the years were passing for her as well. He’d begun to devise a plan, to seek out a way to end the curse without passing it on, to be done with the Dark One for good. But now he’d lost a year, not just of his son’s life, but of valuable research time. He was only lucky more time hadn’t passed before Alice was able to jar him awake.

So here he was, waiting outside Isabelle Schwartz’s apartment building, a mere block from the police station, to accompany her and her son to the aquarium.

His family had been one block away and he’d been none the wiser.

When he found whoever cast the curse, he’d rip them limb from limb.

He was torn from those dark thoughts by the sight of Belle exiting the apartment building, a little figure gripping on to her hand. He pushed away from where he was leaning against his car, drinking in the sight of his son.

Gideon was taller, almost reaching his mother’s shoulder despite his young age. He’d lost his front two bottom teeth as well. Time hadn’t stayed still under this curse like it had in Storybrooke. Even in just one year his son had changed so much, grown so much.

“I don’t want to go to the aquarium!” Eli grumbled, dragging his feet along the pavement.

“You love the aquarium,” Isabelle said, pulling him by his hand to where Rumple was waiting. He waved at them and she gave him a dazzling smile in return.

“Good afternoon, Detective,” she said brightly. Eli shuffled behind his mother, peeking out from behind her back.

“Good afternoon,” he returned with a little bow. “And you must be Eli,” he directed to Gideon, his brown eyes looking up at Rumple suspiciously. “I hear you love the aquarium.”

“I hate the aquarium!” Eli exclaimed. “I want to go to the zoo!”

As if on queue, a peal of thunder could be heard in the distance, the clouds above them grey and oppressive.

“Eli!” Isabelle exclaimed before turning to Rumple. “I’m sorry. He’s not usually this rude.”

“It’s fine,” Rumple said with a nod. “Maybe we can try the zoo next weekend, when the weather is a little better.”

Isabelle arched a brow at him. “You want to sign up for another kid friendly excursion already? We don’t want to monopolize all your time.”

“Somehow I think my thriving social life will survive,” he quipped.

Eli was still watching him suspiciously, stepping out from around Isabelle to stare down this new perceived threat.

“This is _my _mom,” he said, stressing the possessive.

“Yes, she is,” Rumple agreed.

“She’s not your mom,” Eli continued.

Isabelle exclaimed again, but Rumple couldn’t help but laugh.

“No, she’s a bit too young for that,” he said, never minding the fact that his own father had lived centuries as an immortal teenager.

Rumple crouched down, getting on the little boy’s level. His brown eyes were wary, his jaw set and his chin jutting out in just the same way his mother’s did when she was angry about something. He wanted nothing more than to pull his son into his arms, smell the baby scent of his hair, feel his warm little body and his steady heartbeat. He’d missed him so very much.

“I’m not trying to take your mum away from you, Eli,” he said. “I just want to go to the aquarium. Would you like to come with me?”

Eli considered him for a moment, his brown eyes narrowing.

“Okay,” he said, finally. “But only because I want to see an octopus today.”

Rumple stood with a grin, giving his son a little nod.

“To the octopus then,” he said, motioning Isabelle and Eli to his car.

It was a short drive to the waterfront. Isabelle made polite conversation while Rumple felt Eli’s eyes on the back of his neck. He tried to remember that he hadn’t made much of a first impression on Isabelle either and she’d come around. Of course, he’d not been himself the first time he’d met Isabelle. Even so, Weaver had felt a connection to her, their true love transcending realms and curses. He hoped the same magic would work with his son. Gideon had never known the monster, the Dark One. To him he was simply Papa. He’d earned Baelfire’s distrust and anger, but he’d made sure to do things right with his second chance at fatherhood. To have Gideon’s dark eyes looking at him with fear and dislike wasn’t something he could stomach.

Eli's penetrating stare didn't abate as they parked, nor as they stood in the ticket line for admission. Once they were inside, the aquarium dark and warm after the chill in the air outside, Eli finally broke his silence.

“My mom said you’re a police man,” he said as they walked past a tank filled with jellyfish.

“That’s right,” Weaver said. “I’m a detective. That means I investigate crimes.”

Eli’s eyes lit up a little and Rumple was glad to have something about him that interested the boy.

“Do you have a gun?” Eli asked eagerly.

“I do,” Rumple admitted.

“Can I see it?”

Isabelle’s eyes widened and Rumple shook his head.

“I don’t have it on me at the moment,” he said. “And besides, guns are very dangerous if you don’t have proper training. I have to carry one for protection, but I don’t like them.”

He absentmindedly rubbed at his shoulder, above where he’d so recently been shot. But it wasn’t that event that had solidified his dislike of guns. Isabelle had no memory of being shot, of falling across the town line, of everything that had followed. He’d come so close to losing her, one of many times. He wouldn't lose her again. 

“But you can fight the bad guys!” Eli pressed on.

“Well, there are much more efficient ways to fight bad guys than guns, in my experience.”

Like turning them into something wriggly and easily stepped on. Not that Rumple had done that in years. No, with Belle at his side defeating the bad guys came through courage, understanding, and a well placed knock to the head when absolutely necessary. They’d managed to save a realm or two over the years using her methods and he’d come around to putting in the hard work. You made far fewer enemies Belle’s way.

“Like beating them up?” Eli asked. “Batman beats up bad guys.”

Rumple huffed a laugh. Weaver’s preferred method had always been his fists, but he was far from being Batman.

“Violence is rarely the answer,” he said. “But I’ve had to punch a villain or two in my day, yes.”

His answer seemed to satisfy Eli who ran over to the jellyfish, pressing his nose against the glass to get a better look. Isabelle scooted up beside Rumple, taking his hand in hers and giving it a light squeeze.

“I’m sorry about all the questions,” she said lowly and Rumple squeezed her hand in return, relishing the feel of it in his own for the first time in so very long.

He shook his head. “I truly don’t mind. Of course he wants to know about the strange man intruding in his life.”

“Oh come now,” she said, bumping her shoulder against his. “You’re not strange.”

Rumple narrowed his eyes. “Oh, you’ve no idea.”

They shared a laugh, Isabelle’s hand still in his. He was shocked she hadn’t pulled away yet, but he wasn’t going to be the one to break the contact.

“This is a new experience for him though,” Isabelle said after a moment. Eli had darted across to an exhibit of Yellow Tangs and they followed behind him, still hand in hand. “I haven’t dated much since he was born and I’ve never introduced him to anyone. This is new for both of us.”

Rumple watched her, the fetching way she bit her lip in that nervous way of hers. Isabelle was terrified, he realized. Going out with him was a huge leap of faith.

“Thank you,” he said, squeezing her hand again.

“For what?” Isabelle asked, looking confused.

“For giving me a chance,” he said. “I know how much trust you’re putting in me at the moment, and I promise I’m not going to abuse it.”

Isabelle nodded, looking away at the brightly colored fish darting around in their tank.

“I believe you,” she said softly.

Rumple smiled, unable to take his eyes off Belle. She was so beautiful in the bluish glow from the aquarium exhibit, the water the exact same shade as her eyes. He’d never wanted to kiss her more in his life and holding himself back was an increasingly difficult struggle.

Isabelle glanced sideways at him, catching his stare.

“What?” she asked, bringing her free hand up to smooth her hair as if some imperfection had attracted his notice rather than the wonder than was her.

“Nothing,” he said with a shake of his head, turning to look at the fish in front of them with a smile. He could see Isabelle biting back her own smile in his peripheral vision.

They meandered through the aquarium, following Eli’s lead as he darted between exhibits, his earlier declaration that he hated the aquarium apparently forgotten. Isabelle had dropped his hand the first time Eli had doubled back to them to excitedly point out a group of seahorses and Rumple hadn’t tried to take her hand again. They were going slowly and no matter how badly he wanted his wife and son back, he had to take things in stride. Isabelle and Eli weren’t Belle and Gideon, no matter how he wished it and Detective Weaver hadn’t earned a place in their family yet.

They finally made their way to the Giant Pacific Octopus exhibit and Eli was jumping up and down in excitement at the sight. By the time they stopped for lunch in the aquarium café, Eli was talking Rumple’s ear off, going in to detail about his collection of dinosaur figures and his desire for Santa to bring him something called a “Super Colossal Tyrannosaurus Rex with Battle Damage” a note Rumple filed away for later. 

It was late afternoon by the time they made it back to Isabelle’s apartment, the storm clouds masking the setting sun and giving the impression of full evening at 4 in the afternoon. Eli had fallen asleep as soon as he was strapped in to the car and Rumple offered to carry him up the flight of stairs to the apartment, which Isabelle heartily accepted.

Rumple hefted his son up into his arms, relishing the slight weight of him and the little snuffling snores he always made in his sleep. Isabelle hurried to open the apartment for him and all too soon he was laying the little boy down on a small brown leather sofa, grabbing a blue throw blanket from the back of the couch to tuck around his shoulders.

Isabelle was watching him carefully and he stepped away once his son was comfortable.

“You look experienced at that,” she said as they stepped out of the living room and into the entry hall.

“He reminds me of my wee boy,” he said by way of answer.

Belle smiled at him sadly. “I hope you’re able to see him again soon.”

“So am I,” he said with a nod, his eyes darting toward the living room.

Isabelle clapped her hands together nervously.

“Well, thank you for a wonderful time today,” she said. “I think between tales of beating up bad guys and buying him an ice cream in the café you officially won my son over.”

Rumple just nodded again. “It was my pleasure.”

He was being dismissed. Time to go back to his lonely apartment and dream about his family, so close and yet so far.

“He’s not the only one,” Isabelle said with a smirk.

Rumple raised an eyebrow. “Oh really?” he asked. “Then perhaps we could do this again sometime.”

“Absolutely,” Isabelle agreed. “Only maybe next time we could do something a little more adult.” The words hung there for a moment before her eyes widened. “Oh my God, I meant like get a drink, not…” she trailed off looking flustered. “I didn’t mean anything like... I’m sorry.”

Isabelle shook her head, blushing profusely, and Rumple couldn’t help it any longer. He bent forward, catching her lips with his own and stopping her stream of apologies. Isabelle gasped in surprise, but a moment later she’d wrapped her arms around his neck, melting in to him. Rumple pushed his hand in to Isabelle’s hair, the curls tangling about his fingers as he tilted her face up to kiss her more deeply. Isabelle had gone up on her tiptoes, clinging to him as she opened her mouth, letting his tongue stroke against hers. Before things could get too heated, Rumple pulled away, his hands falling to span Isabelle's waist as she panted slightly, her chest rising and falling beneath her soft lilac sweater.

“I’d love to do something a little more adult with you,” he rasped out. If possible, Isabelle flushed even redder.

“Yeah,” she said with a nod. They stood there for a long moment, staring at each other as they caught their breath. Isabelle’s lips parted as if she were about to say something more when a loud crash came echoing from the living room. It appeared Eli was awake.

Isabelle flinched, her expression apologetic as she pulled out of Rumple's arms.

“I should make sure that wasn’t anything irreplaceable,” she said.

“Of course,” Rumple said, ducking his head. “I’ll call you this week about that drink.”

“Sounds good,” she agreed.

“Goodnight, Isabelle.”

“Goodnight, Detective,” she said.

Rumple watched as she backed away down the hall, giving him one last shy smile before turning in to the living room.

“What happened to my lamp?” He heard Isabelle exclaim.

“I was trying to reach my Legos!”

Rumple shook his head with a smile as he closed the door of the apartment behind him, the rest of his evening suddenly seeming less bleak. This was going to work. He'd have his family back before the end of the month. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone on tumblr asked about Eli's "father". I mean, you guys knew this was coming eventually. :)

It struck Isabelle, on an otherwise typical Wednesday evening, that she was dating Detective Weaver. She wasn’t entirely sure she had meant to do so. She knew his reputation. She had been warned about how dangerous he was and she knew first hand that his temper could run hot. For heaven’s sake he’d been shot a week into their acquaintance, so she knew his lifestyle was anything but safe.

But somehow, perhaps against her better judgment, she was falling for him. Despite his profession and his reputation, he made her feel safe, cherished, _loved_. And Isabelle hadn’t felt any of that in longer than she could remember.

It had started slowly enough. Their outing to the aquarium wasn’t _really_ a date. Not with Eli tagging along and keeping anything romantic from happening.

Well, until he’d kissed her goodnight.

But Eli had interrupted that too, and it was just as well. Isabelle hadn’t been kissed like that in ages and her mind had gone pleasantly blank at the first touch of his lips, moving purely on instinct. If Eli hadn’t awoken when he did she could have done something utterly foolish.

But the aquarium had been three weeks ago now. In those intervening weeks they’d gone to the zoo at Eli’s request and they’d had drinks at Roni’s at Isabelle’s. That evening had also ended with a kiss, though Isabelle was ready for it this time and it didn’t take her as completely off guard. She’d managed to keep hold of enough of her sanity not to drag him back to his place and fuck his brains out.

But only just.

This weekend, Weaver was taking she and Eli to a Sounders game and on Sunday they were having dinner together, just the two of them. It would be the first _real_ date, but the fifth total if you counted their outings with Eli.

Five dates was respectable. No one would blame her. It had been so very long. So very, _very_ long.

And so, Isabelle Schwartz had made up her mind. Not only was she dating Detective Weaver, as of Sunday she’d officially be sleeping with him as well.

To that end, she had carefully chosen her date night outfit, with some help from Roni who was a bit more knowledgeable about these things. Her friend had shockingly changed her tune on Weaver about a week or two ago. Isabelle wasn’t sure what the impetus was, but far from warning her off Weaver, she had become positively encouraging. She’d even volunteered to babysit on Sunday evening so Isabelle and Weaver could have some time alone, though she had made Isabelle swear to spare her the gory details. Her newfound love of Weaver apparently had its limits.

Isabelle now had a new little black dress hanging in her closet, the hemline on just the right side of indecent, and a pair of her favorite emerald colored stilettos. She’d bought new underwear for the occasion and a box of condoms and was feeling equal parts excited and anxious. She wished time would pass more quickly, that the rest of the week would fly by until the night in question.

Butterflies, she realized. She had butterflies in her stomach every time she thought about Weaver. Isabelle wasn’t sure anyone had ever given her butterflies in her life and she relished the feeling, the excitement and uncertainty of a new relationship. She found herself smiling at the oddest times and counting the moments until she saw him again. Isabelle shook her head as he she headed down the hall to the kitchen after tucking Eli in to bed that evening. Her son had asked if Detective Weaver could come to their house for Christmas and she’d told him he could ask when they saw Weaver on Saturday. Eli was getting attached and that should frighten her. If the relationship went south she didn’t want her son’s feelings to be injured in the fallout. But for some reason, she couldn’t feel anything but optimistic. Christmas was still three weeks away and yet she had no fear in planning out that far. Weaver would still be in their lives by Christmas, by New Year, by Easter. 

She was turning into a lovesick fool.

Isabelle’s cell phone rang from where it was sitting on the kitchen island and she snapped it up quickly. Weaver called on occasion when he was getting off for the night. Isabelle got the impression he called when he had a particularly bad day and the idea that she could be the bright spot, the light at the end of the tunnel after a long shift, made her smile almost as brightly as Eli’s affinity for Weaver.

“Hey!” she answered, not bothering to look at the caller ID.

“Hey, Iz,” came a voice from the other end of the line, a voice she hadn’t heard in approximately two years. Her smile slipped, a leaden feeling forming in her stomach. “It’s me.”

Isabelle swallowed, composing herself.

“What do you want?” she asked, the words coming out more tremulous than she would have liked.

A sigh came from the other end of the line. She could picture him, shaking his head, his dark hair falling across his brow. She’d thought him so handsome once upon a time. Now she thought if she saw him she’d have a hard time not slapping him silly.

“I want to see him,” he said, finally.

Isabelle snorted a mirthless laugh. “Well that would be a first.”

Another sigh. “Don’t be like that.”

“Like what?” she demanded. “Like a protective mother who doesn’t want you to show up for an afternoon just to disappear for years again? Eli doesn’t deserve that.”

“I know –”

“I gave you every chance,” she hissed. “You didn’t want him from the moment I told you I was pregnant but every time you popped in I gave you a chance. You let us down every single time.”

“I wasn’t ready!” he exclaimed. “I was young and immature.”

“So was I!” Isabelle yelled back. “But I grew up. I don’t have the time or patience to wait for you to do the same.”

“Isabelle, please!” he pleaded. “Look, I’ve got my life together now. I graduated law school in the spring. I have a good job. I’m making good money. I want to help.”

“Help,” Isabelle spat. “I haven’t seen a penny of child support in five goddamn years.”

“I know,” he said. “I want to change that now. I want to help you financially, but in return I want to know my son.”

“No,” she said automatically, shaking her head. She couldn’t deny that financial help would be nice. It wasn’t as though she was making money hand over fist at the dance studio and things got more expensive the older Eli got. But she wouldn’t risk her child’s well being for comfort.

“He’s my son!” he exclaimed again.

“Yeah,” she agreed. “But you don’t get to decide when. You’re either there all the time or not at all. Anything else is just confusing for Eli.”

“Okay,” he agreed. “I can be there all the time. I’m back in Seattle and I have no plans to go anywhere else. I’m here, Isabelle. I’m all in.”

Isabelle sighed, rubbing her thumb against the bridge of her nose. There was no way of knowing if he would follow through with his promises. He’d certainly never been good about that before. But she wanted Eli to know his father. She had always wanted that.

“I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head. “Pretty words are just that. Actions speak louder and your actions have screamed absentee father.”

“So you’re not going to give me a chance?” he asked. “You’re going to withhold my own kid from me?”

“You had a chance,” she spat. “When I told you I was pregnant and you dumped me. When I called you from the hospital when I was in labor and you didn’t show. When you showed up nine months later and I let you hold him against my better judgment. When you came to his third birthday party and then just disappeared again. You’ve had so many chances and you squandered them all. So excuse me if I’m burned out on your chances.”

There was silence for a long moment on the other end and she half wondered if he’d hung up. But then there was a small cough, like he was clearing his throat.

“I regret that,” he said finally. “I’m sorry about not being there, but I was in no place to be a father. Circumstances change, Iz. I’m ready now.”

“I don’t care,” she said wearily.

“You should,” he said, his voice turning steely. “Iz, I’m an attorney and I know my rights. I don’t want to get the courts involved, but I will if I have to.”

Prickles of ice shot through Isabelle. The idea that just because her deadbeat ex boyfriend had managed to get a high paying job he could swoop in and steal her son from her was unimaginable. Eli was the most important person in her life, the only person who mattered. She wouldn’t lose him.

“Is that a threat?” she hissed.

“No! I just want visitation. I just want to spend time with him.”

Adrenaline was coursing through Isabelle’s body, making her vision swim. She couldn’t lose Eli. She couldn’t. She knew her ex and his penchant for darting off if things got real. One visit would be enough. He’d hightail out their lives until Eli was sixteen.

“Fine,” she said.

A deep, relieved breath met her ears.

“Thank you,” he said. “How about Saturday?”

“We have plans,” she said automatically.

“Please,” he pleaded. “We can meet at that café downtown, the one we used to go to. I know you love their apple pie.”

Eli was looking forward to the soccer game with Weaver, but she supposed they could squeeze in a meeting with his father beforehand.

“You can have one hour,” Isabelle said finally. “If I’m not convinced you’re serious about things at the end of that hour, you don’t get to see him again.”

“Thank you,” he said again. “You’re not going to regret it, Izzy, I promise.”

Isabelle flinched at the use of the old nickname. It called to mind far too many painful memories.

“Goodbye,” she said shortly before hanging up the phone.

She dropped the phone back down on the kitchen island, staring at the blank screen. She was no longer longing for the weekend. Now she was dreading it. And most of all she dreaded seeing Nick Branson.


	8. Chapter 8

Rumplestiltskin couldn’t wait for the weekend.

To his amazement, things had been going very well with Isabelle. He wasn’t certain how he’d managed to woo Belle herself, much less her cursed counterpart, and could only chalk it up to the mysterious magic of true love. In Hyperion Heights he didn’t even have the magic, power or wealth he’d possessed in other realms, not that Belle had ever been impressed by any of those things. He was just himself, as much as he could be while wearing the mantle of Detective Weaver, and it had been enough.

So far, they’d been spending most of their time together with Eli, and while Rumple soaked up every moment afforded with his son, he was very much looking forward to a little alone time with his wife. They had plans for dinner together on Sunday, just the two of them. It would be the first time they’d done something alone together in weeks. The relationship between Weaver and Isabelle was still so new and it was hard not to rush things when he missed Belle so very much. He’d been the first to kiss her, though Isabelle had initiated kisses since. He’d decided he would follow her lead when it came to anything physical, but that didn't stop his mind from wandering.

Pleasant recollections left him smiling more often than not these days and Rogers, for one, had noticed.

“We’re at a crime scene,” his partner said flatly one afternoon as they’d investigated a break in at a local bakery. “Can you at least pretend you care?”

The owner had been knocked unconscious and was being transported to a local hospital, and yet Weaver was grinning at a cheeky text from Isabelle.

Most days, Rumple liked Hook’s Wish Realm counterpart far more than the one he’d known for 200 years. But some days he was just as annoying as the original.

“You take things too seriously,” he shot back. “Maybe you should go out every once in a while. Get laid.”

Rogers' lips twisted wryly. 

“Yeah, well, that’s not exactly encouraged in the first year of sobriety I’m afraid.”

Weaver clapped a hand against Rogers’ shoulder before heading out of the open doors of the bakery. They’d need to follow up with the victim once she was awake.

“Maybe a puppy then,” he said with a smirk. “A plant? Something to go home to at night.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” Rogers said, following him outside. “I remember the stories about you before we were made partners. The hard-nosed Jacob Weaver, best arrest record in the precinct, never takes a day off. A few dates with a ballerina and you’re a changed man.”

“Oh you’ve no idea,” Weaver called over his shoulder.

Saturday morning dawned bright and cool, the sun blinking weakly from behind scattered clouds. He was picking up Isabelle and Eli at noon to take them to the game so he’d gone in to the station early that morning to get some work done. He was glad of the resources afforded to him by his position in the police department, but he’d come no closer to discovering who had cast the curse. Victoria Belfrey was in quite the place of power, but Lady Tremaine had no reason to want the curse cast. Her little witch of a daughter seemed thoroughly cursed. He’d seen neither hide nor hair of Gothel, and that made him nervous. Meanwhile he actually had a job to do. He almost missed Mr. Gold’s pawnshop at times. He’d never had to do much actual work in Storybrooke, left to his own machinations. Pounding the pavement with Rogers, hunting down leads, was far more exhausting.

He was filling out a report from an arrest made the day before when his phone lit up, vibrating against his desk. He glanced down at it and couldn’t suppress the smile that crossed his face when he recognized Isabelle’s number.

“The girlfriend?” Rogers asked with a raised eyebrow, watching him from across their shared workspace.

“Shut up,” Rumple griped, snatching up his phone and heading out into the hall to take the call.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said, the old endearment rolling off his tongue with ease as he answered.

“Hey,” Isabelle said, her voice a little stilted.

“Is something wrong?” he asked immediately.

“No,” Isabelle replied, her voice all false sunniness. “I mean, yes. I think we’re going to have to take a rain check on the soccer game this afternoon.”

Rumple felt his stomach plummet with disappointment.

“Oh,” he said. “Any reason why?”

Isabelle cleared her throat.

“Eli’s not feeling great and I don’t want to get him out in the cold, you know?”

There was something in Belle’s voice, something that told him things weren’t right. But everything was still new and he didn’t want to push.

“O-okay,” he said. “Are we still on for dinner tomorrow night?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, a huff of breath coming through the receiver.

“I really want to,” she said finally. “I mean, I have _plans_ for you.”

“Oh really?” Weaver asked, his eyebrows rising. “What kind of plans?”

Isabelle huffed a little laugh on the other end of the line.

“I bought a new outfit,” she said, her voice dropping in pitch. “And, uh, something to wear under the outfit as well.”

“Miss Schwartz,” he said with a grin. “Are you flirting with me?”

“Maybe,” she said with a giggle. “I’m sorry about the soccer game though. Maybe another time?”

“Of course,” he said with a nod. “You just focus on that boy of yours. Tell him I hope he feels better.”

“Oh, yeah,” Isabelle said, her voice wary once more. “I’m sure he’ll be fine. You know how kids get the sniffles.”

They hung up and Rumple stared down at the phone in his hand, a feeling of unease settling in his stomach. Nothing Isabelle had said gave him cause for alarm, but something felt off. 

"Congratulations," he said as he returned to he and Rogers' office, pulling the tickets to the game from his jacket pocket. "You've earned an afternoon off." 

He slapped the tickets down on the desk in front of Rogers who picked them up with an appraising look. 

"Good seats," he said, glancing up at Weaver. "You sure you don't want these?" 

Rumple merely grunted in response. He couldn't care less about soccer games if he didn't have his family with him.

As the afternoon wore on, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Certainly Isabelle would have told him if she was in any danger. But the way her voice had changed when they spoke about Eli had him rattled. He didn’t want to move too fast or be too familiar and risk scaring Isabelle away, so he waited until that evening to put his plan in to motion. He would pop by her apartment under the pretense of checking on Eli on his way out of work. Isabelle only lived a block away from the station so it was hardly out of the way. 

With that in mind, he headed to Isabelle’s apartment after leaving the station at 5 o’clock that evening. He had a bag with chicken soup from the diner down the street slung over his wrist, a bottle of wine in his other hand. He figured they could get Eli tucked up in bed and maybe have a moment to just the two of them before he left for the night so the day wasn't a total waste. It was only when he’d raised his hand to rap his knuckles on the apartment door that he realized noise was coming from within, the sound of voices and muffled Christmas carols carrying through the door.

He narrowed his eyes, knocking lightly. He heard a scuffle inside, a scrape of chair legs against a wooden floor, before the door burst open, warmth and Christmas music flooding out into the hall.

“Can I help you?” asked an unfamiliar man with silver tinsel wrapped around his neck like a scarf. He was tall and young with dark hair and a fair amount of scruff covering his chiseled jaw. Rumple felt a rush of something hot and angry lance through him, a crackling energy looking for release. The latent magic of this world was trying to take root in him, even now. But he was powerless here.

“Who are you?” he snapped.

“Nick Branson,” the man said, extending a hand. Rumple merely glared at it and after a moment, Branson dropped his hand back to his side. “Uh, are you here to see Izzy?”

"Detective Weaver!" Gideon exclaimed, peeking out from behind Branson. He was holding a string of popcorn, a homemade Christmas decoration if the red and green kernels were anything to go by. He also looked decidedly healthy. 

"Hello, Eli," Rumple managed. "You're looking well." 

"We're decorating our tree!" he said excitedly. "Do you wanna help?" 

“Weaver!” came Isabelle’s voice as she too appeared in the doorway. “What are you doing here?”

He wasn't entirely sure now, though he tried not to let his imagination run away with him. Tilly had said Isabelle was a loner but that didn't mean she was completely friendless. Perhaps this Nick person was simply a co-worker or the like. A co-worker with a penchant for Christmas decorating. 

He raised the bag with the chicken soup in it halfheartedly. “I thought Eli might benefit from some soup,” he said uselessly. 

"Oh," Isabelle said glancing away guiltily. "Thank you." 

There was an awkward pause, the three inhabitants of the apartment staring at Rumple as he stood there stupidly with his soup. 

"Where are my manners," Isabelle said after a moment, shaking her head. “Um, Nick, this is my…this is...this is Detective Jacob Weaver,” she said, motioning to him. “Weaver, this is Nick. Eli’s dad.”

Rumple felt as though the air had been sucked out of the hallway, his vision condensing to two little pinpricks focused on the interloper’s face. He could hear his blood rushing in his ears. His fury must have shown on his face because the next moment, Belle was sending Nick back into the apartment with Eli and was dragging him out into the hall.

“What’s going on here?” he demanded. “Is Eli even really sick?”

Belle bit her lip, looking guilty. He had years of marriage to rely on when it came to reading Belle. Not that she wasn’t an open book anyway, her every emotion showing clearly on her face.

“No,” she admitted, crossing her arms against her chest. “Nick called and wanted to see Eli so we were going to meet for lunch before the game. Eli happened to mention that we didn’t have a Christmas tree yet and Nick said he’d bring us to get one. Eli was so excited about it that I didn’t want to pull him away, but I wasn’t sure what to say to you. I just… this is not a situation I’ve ever found myself in. I didn’t want to cause problems when things are still so new for us. I know my life is complicated and I didn’t want to scare you off with the mess.”

“So you, what?” Weaver asked. “Lied to protect me?”

Isabelle shook her head. “Something like that. Look, I really like you. I didn’t want you to think anything more was happening here than actually is.”

Rumple took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. There was no use flying off the handle and scaring Isabelle away for good. They’d been on a few casual dates. She wasn’t his wife. He had no reason to be upset.

“And what exactly is happening here?” he asked. “Should I be worried?”

“No!” Isabelle exclaimed, reaching out to rest her hands on Rumple's chest reassuringly. “He’s just Eli’s father. And we haven’t had the best relationship. He split when I got pregnant, he’s turned up a few times over the years and never stayed longer than a day, but he seems to have things together now and he wants to know Eli. I can’t stand in the way of that. A boy needs his father.”

Rumple scoffed.

“And that’s him, is it?”

Isabelle narrowed her eyes, her hands dropping from his chest. “Yes, it is,” she said, her voice low. “No matter how I might wish otherwise, Nick is Eli’s dad. If he means to stick around this time, I’m not going to dissuade him.”

“Take it from someone who knows,” Rumple said roughly. “Sometimes no father is better than the one fate saddled you with.”

Isabelle blanched. “Are you trying to tell me what’s best for _my_ child?”

“I know a dad who splits after a weekend isn’t it.”

“Oh and you’d know all about that wouldn’t you,” she spat. “When’s the last time you saw your son again?”

Rumple’s jaw clenched, the twisting feeling in his stomach intensifying.

Isabelle gasped, slapping a hand against her mouth. “I’m so sorry,” she said immediately. “I didn’t mean that. I know you love your son.”

Rumple just nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He hated this curse. He hated Nick Branson, whoever he was. He hated feeling powerless to do anything but watch his family slip away from him time and time again.

“Look, I don’t want to fight, please,” she said, reaching for him again. Isabelle's hand found his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze, always so tactile regardless of curses. It had always taken him by surprise back in the Dark Castle, how willing she was to touch him after years without it. 

Rumple glanced down at her hand on his arm and she dropped it all too quickly, leaving him touch starved once again. 

“I don’t want to fight either,” he agreed.

Isabelle glanced behind her to where the door to the apartment was still cracked. Rumple could hear Gideon’s laughter at something Branson was saying and he clenched his teeth together hard enough to ache.

Isabelle chewed on her lip as she turned back to face him, and Rumple attempted to school his features into a neutral expression.

“Can I…can I please just call you later?” she asked, looking up at him with those devastating blue eyes.

“Yeah,” Rumple said resignedly. “I suppose we’d better cancel tomorrow night after all.”

“Oh,” Isabelle said, her eyes widening in surprise. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Rumple gave one more curt nod before turning to stalk off back down the hallway.

“Jacob, wait!” Isabelle called after him, and he tensed at the sound of the false name on her lips. He steeled himself, turning back to face Isabelle with a blank expression.

“We’ll reschedule, right?” she asked hesitantly, her voice trembling ever so slightly.

Rumple couldn’t help but offer her a smile, his sore heart softening at the sight of her so uncertain.

“Yeah,” he assured her. “I’m all in on this, Isabelle. The kid, the ex, none of it’s going to scare me off. Okay? You don't have to worry about that.”

Isabelle gave a little sigh of relief. 

“Good,” she said with a nod. Then she slipped back into her apartment, the click of the door lock reverberating in the empty hallway.

The night had turned icy outside, Rumple's breath condensing in little puffs as he dumped the soup and the wine in the trashcan outside Belle’s apartment lobby. He rubbed his hands together, blowing on them for warmth before turning toward the bar next door. A few patrons stumbled out, the sound of loud music and louder conversation pouring out after them with a blast of warm, beer scented air.

Rumple slipped in after them. He needed answers, and there was one person in this city who could give them to him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the long gap in updates. 2020 has been a real bitch.

It was still early, a little past dinner time, and Roni’s was only half full, a few tables nursing beers and burgers. Henry was seated on one end of the bar, his head together with Regina clearly discussing something. He narrowed his eyes at them. He hadn’t seen much of Henry since their disastrous run in at Lucy’s recital, the same day Weaver had met Isabelle. Rumple had been so concerned with his wife and child he’d neglected his other family members. He at least owed Henry an apology for the black eye he’d given him. His grandson was separated from his wife and child too, even though he didn’t realize it yet. He wondered what Regina was doing about it.

She caught his eye as he approached the bar, her eyes rolling slightly as she patted Henry on the arm, nodding in Weaver’s direction that she had a customer before heading his way.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, thunking a glass down in front of him and filling it with Weaver’s favorite whisky. “I don’t usually see you on weekends.”

He ignored the drink.

“Who’s Nick Branson?” he demanded

Roni looked up at him, her mouth gaping.

“What do you mean?”

“Cut the crap, Regina,” he said, settling on a bar stool in front of her. “You know I’m awake. I know you’re awake. We’re always awake. So who is he? In our world?”

Regina gave a little shake of her head, a small smile crossing her face.

“Good to have you back,” she said. “What did it?”

Rumple rolled his eyes.

“Gunshot wound to the chest,” he said succinctly. “Would have killed a mortal man, but lucky for me I’m cursed. You?”

Regina’s smile faltered slightly.

“Oh you know me,” she said with a shrug of her shoulder. “Always a contingency plan.”

Rumple narrowed his eyes. She was clearly lying but he didn’t much care why at the moment.

“Nick Branson,” he said again, jabbing his pointer finger into the bar for emphasis.

Regina glanced down at Henry at the end of the bar before angling herself away from him, turned toward Weaver as she leaned against the bar.

“Jack,” she said finally, her voice low. “Of the beanstalk Jacks. He was Henry’s closest friend in the other Enchanted Forest. How did your paths never cross?”

“We weren’t there all that long,” Rumple said with a shrug. “Is he anyone I should worry about?”

Regina shook her head. “No,” she said, leaning back and bracing her hands against the bar. “He’s a good guy, always helpful. I can’t speak for his cursed persona, of course, but they tend not to be too far off.”

Rumple snorted, giving Roni’s ripped Def Leppard t-shirt a once over. Regina rolled her eyes.

“Oh this,” she said, plucking at her shirt. “This is just petty revenge. Obviously someone has it in for me. Roni has a shocking lack of clothing that isn’t leopard print and if I suddenly started wearing couture it would look a little strange.”

Rumple huffed a laugh.

“I know what you mean,” he said, motioning at his leather jacket and jeans. “Though I admit t-shirts are quite comfortable. I can see the appeal now.”

“Right?” Regina said, smacking her hand against the counter. “Why are you asking about Jack anyway? Or Nick as the case may be.”

Rumple finally reached out for the glass in front of him, taking a fortifying sip and enjoying the burn of the alcohol down his throat. He was lucky Weaver liked hard liquor. If he’d woken up to a persona that preferred appletinis he’s not sure he’d be able to stay in character.

“Apparently he’s Isabelle’s ex,” he said flatly, setting his glass back down on the bar.

Regina blinked.

“So Henry’s best friend is now dating his grandmother?” she said with a look of vague horror. “It’s a wonder that kid didn’t need more therapy.”

“Belle is not dating him,” he snapped. “She’s dating me. But he’s started slinking around lately and I wanted to know if he had ulterior motives.”

“Other than getting in Belle’s pants, probably not.”

Rumple glared at Regina and she let out a little laugh.

“I’m messing with you,” she said. “For what it’s worth, Isabelle is very into you. I don’t know what it is with every version of Belle falling for you. I almost feel sorry for the poor girl.”

“Wouldn’t know it,” he griped, taking a swig of whisky.

“She’s cursed!” Regina cried, throwing her hands up in the air. “I dealt with it for twenty-eight years. You were all bumbling around not knowing which way was up. It’s exhausting.”

“That was your _happy ending_, your majesty,” he said, not a little unkindly. “That one’s on you.”

Regina raised an eyebrow at him. “Do you really want to parse over whose fault that curse was?”

At the roll of Rumple’s eyes she continued.

“All I’m saying is you haven’t dealt with a cursed Belle before. It’s new to you.”

Rumple swallowed down a mouthful of liquor before leveling Regina with a look.

“Lacey,” he said flatly.

Regina’s brows drew together in confusion for a moment before the light bulb went off and she erupted into gales of laughter so loud they attracted Henry’s attention from the other end of the bar.

“I almost forgot about that!” she exclaimed.

“It wasn’t funny!”

“It was a little funny,” Regina countered. “Not my finest moment, to be sure, but in the grand scheme of things turning Belle into a Van Halen loving pool shark is not even in my top ten list of sins. Oh, God, she and Roni would have gotten along well.”

“Similar wardrobes,” he said and Regina cut a glare at him.

“Lacey’s mini skirts were for your benefit, old friend,” she said with a laugh. “I wanted you distracted and lo and behold it worked.”

She stopped for a moment, a thought seemingly striking her.

“What?” Rumple asked.

“Someone wants you distracted,” she said with a shake of her head. “This curse could have sent Belle anywhere but she’s across the street from your police station of all places? Whoever cast this curse knows you’d be awake. They want you preoccupied so you don’t see what’s really going on.”

“Who cast the curse?” he asked.

Regina gestured around at the bar. “You think I’d be here if I knew? I’d be off wringing some necks.”

“But you knew it was coming,” he accused. “You were the one who warned us.”

Regina sighed, crossing her arms against her chest as she leaned back against the bar.

“I knew Drizella wanted it cast and I knew she was angry and bitter enough to do it. I saw enough of myself in her to see that. But do you honestly think she’d have cursed herself to working for her mother? That’d make about as much sense as me making Cora mayor of Storybrooke and working as her secretary for twenty-eight years.”

“Perhaps that’s exactly what she’s banking on us thinking.”

Regina fixed him with a look.

“You’ve got Mommy abandoned me issues not Mommy was emotionally and verbally abusive for my entire childhood issues. Trust me on this one. Would you have brought Pan over in a curse?”

“Fair point,” he conceded. “I wish I could talk this over with Belle. She always offered a unique perspective on these things.”

“I know how you feel,” Regina said, glancing down the bar wistfully at Henry. “It’s hard when the people you love don’t even recognize you.”

Rumple finished his drink, sliding the empty glass back across the bar to Regina.

“Well,” he said, getting up from his stool as a gaggle of twenty somethings breezed loudly in to the bar. “Whoever cast this curse probably didn’t bet on this.”

“Bet on what?” Regina asked.

“The two of us being awake and our interests aligning,” he said. “How often has that happened? The Evil Queen and Rumplestiltskin working together.”

Regina gave a simpering fake smile.

“I’ve dropped the Evil thing you know?”

“Oh you’ll always be evil to me, dearie,” he said with a wink. He threw a few bills down on the bar to pay for his drink and turned to leave.

“You’re really going to be a team player this time?” Regina called after him.

Rumple glanced over his shoulder.

“As long as I need to be.”

* * *

By Monday, Isabelle was convinced she had ruined everything.

The whole situation with Weaver was far more complicated than it had seemed before the weekend. She wished she could go back a few days into the past, redo things. She’d have never cancelled their plans for the soccer game. She’d have sent Nick on his way after the diner and never let him strong-arm her into going Christmas tree shopping.

But Eli had been so thrilled to see his dad. And Nick had seemed like a completely different person than the last time she’d seen him. He was engaged, interested in Eli in the way she had always hoped for him to be. To her complete shock, Nick seemed serious this time. He wanted to be a dad, and she had to let him.

She just wished she had handled things better.

There was a large part of her that hoped Weaver would call her on Sunday to say their date was back on. He didn’t though, and she had to give him the space to think things over. He’d said he was all in, but she knew men didn’t always mean what they said. She’d spent Sunday night curled up on her couch in sweat pants instead of consummating her new relationship the way she’d hoped to.

In her confusion, she’d completely forgotten to let Roni know about her cancelled plans, and her friend had showed up at 7:30 ready to watch Eli for the night. When Isabelle had teared up while explaining what had happened, Roni had darted back down to the bar for a bottle of wine and they’d split the thing while watching Real Housewives in the den.

“Christ, what is wrong with me?” Isabelle moaned, swinging her wineglass around with little regard for the upholstery. “I can’t believe I screwed up this bad this early!”

“Honestly?” Roni said, giving her a once over. “I think you need to get laid.”

Isabelle sat forward on the sofa, setting her glass down on the coffee table.

“And you think Weaver is the man for that job?” she asked skeptically.

Roni shrugged. “I think he’s the man you want for that job. And anyway who am I to judge anyone’s taste in men. The only man I ever really loved was a thief who slept rough in the forest more often than not.”

Isabelle snorted, her eyes widening.

“What?” Roni said, taking a sip of her wine. “There are things you don’t know about me.”

Isabelle shook her head, trying and failing to picture Roni with a homeless thief.

“Yeah, well, homeless men notwithstanding, I don’t even know what to say to him. Like I had plans for tonight and now that it didn’t happen, I don’t know how to go about it.”

Roni finished her wine, setting her empty glass down next to Isabelle’s.

“Slap on a push up bra, walk up to him and say ‘hey, wanna fuck?’”

Isabelle snorted and Roni just shrugged.

“It’s always worked for me.”

Isabelle shook her head. “That’s not me,” she said with a sigh. “I don’t know. It feels like there’s all this pressure now. It needs to be organic but I feel like we’re going to miss a window or something and it’ll never happen.”

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think you have to do any convincing,” Roni said. “The guy is crazy about you.”

Isabelle bit her lip, worrying the skin with her teeth. “You didn’t see him last night,” she said. “He was angry with me. Disappointed.”

“Maybe he was just surprised,” Roni said. “I’m sure now that he’s had time to cool down everything will be fine.”

“Or I completely ruined a good thing.”

Roni rolled her head back against the couch cushions, letting out a frustrated groan.

“God you two are exhausting!” she exclaimed. “Go kiss him or fuck him or propose marriage to him. I don’t care. But I had to hear him mope about you yesterday and now this! I know more about your relationship than you do!”

“Weaver talked to you about me?” Isabelle said, surprised. “I didn’t think you two were that close.”

Roni huffed. “Well, we’ve recently found some common ground,” she said. “But look, I need Weaver in top form and as long as he’s worried about you that’s not going to happen.”

“Top form for what?” Isabelle asked, her eyes narrowing.

Roni sat up, shrugging her shoulders. “Keeping the streets of Hyperion Heights safe of course. Don’t need him getting shot again, do we?”

Isabelle could at least agree with that and so Monday morning she’d shot Weaver a text asking him to meet her at the studio after work. She had a late class on Monday evenings, an advanced class of 8th to 12th graders who she struggled to keep up with nowadays. She was usually exhausted by 8:00, but she already had a sitter for Eli on Mondays and it was as good a time as any to talk.

The building was quiet after her students had left, the faint sounds of the city from beneath her window the only sound in the otherwise still studio. Isabelle felt tense, unsure if Weaver would show or not and what she would say to him if he did. He’d texted back that he’d stop by when his shift ended but she wasn’t entirely sure when that was and she didn’t want to seem nagging by asking him to pin down a time.

Instead she went to the barre, going through the motions of stretching. She rarely had the chance to dance by herself, always in a rush to get home to Eli after class. 

First position, élevé, plié, second position, grand plié, she lost herself in the motions. She had her right leg raised up on the barre, going down into a demi plié before adjusting to an arabesque, when she realized she was not alone anymore.

“Well, Miss Schwartz, you’re certainly very limber.”

Isabelle jumped, her leg dropping from the barre as she noticed Weaver in the doorway.

“Jacob,” she said with a sigh of relief, laying a hand against her chest. “How long have you been there?”

There was a smirk playing on his lips, his eyes sliding over her in a way that made gooseflesh rise on her arms. She was dressed simply, in a tank top and workout leggings, certainly nothing special, but the way Weaver was looking at her was borderline obscene.

“Long enough to enjoy the view. That wasn’t for my benefit then?” he said with a grin. Isabelle rolled her eyes.

“No,” she said, crossing her arms against her chest. “I really was stretching. I like having the studio to myself at night. To dance with no one watching.”

Weaver motioned at her.

“Then by all means, don’t stop on my account.”

Isabelle’s arms tightened around her midsection. “What about the no one watching part?” she asked.

Weaver crossed the room to where a few folding chairs sat, plopping down in one and motioning across his lips as if he was zipping them closed.

“I won’t make a sound,” he said. “You won’t even remember I’m here.”

Isabelle smiled a little nervously, twisting her hands together for a minute.

“Okay,” she said finally. She had invited him over to talk, perhaps reach an understanding after the events of the weekend. But if he wanted to see her dance, who was she to say no? It was her job after all. She’d danced for audiences of thousands. Somehow this felt more nerve wracking.

There was a stereo at the end of the barre, next to the mirrored wall, and Isabelle stepped over to it, flipping it on. The strains of something pretty and instrumental filled the room and she took her place in the middle of the room in first position, butterflies flapping around in her stomach. Her arms arced out gracefully as she began to move, going up on her toes and spinning around in ways that made Weaver dizzy just to watch. He knew next to nothing about ballet, but even his untrained eye could tell that Isabelle was talented. She did an artful little spin, stopping with her leg extended out behind her, her body not betraying the slightest tremble, before dropping in to a bow. Then she stood back up, slightly out of breath and flushed from the exercise.

“Wow,” Weaver said when she was finished. “Where did you learn to do that?”

Isabelle huffed, pushing her hair out of her face.

“I’ve been dancing since the age of 2,” she said, retrieving a water bottle from her bag and taking a long swig. “That was the result of a lifetime of study.”

“Very impressive,” he said with a nod, getting up from the folding chair. “You dance beautifully.”

Isabelle flushed, pleased. Nick had always found her chosen passion boring, finding any reason to get out of going to one of her performances. Perhaps Jacob was just flattering her, but it was nice to feel appreciated all the same.

“Do you dance, Detective Weaver?” she asked, dropping her water bottle back into her bag and turning to face him.

Weaver chuckled, stepping closer to her.

“Oh not so well as you, but it has been known to happen.”

“Really?” she asked with an inquisitive brow. “I have to say, I can’t picture that.”

“I’ve never tried ballet,” he admitted with a lopsided grin. “But I’ve waltzed a time or two.”

Isabelle snorted a laugh to distract herself from how close he was standing now. God, he smelled good.

The music was still playing, now something softer and slightly melancholy for piano and cello and Weaver offered her a hand.

“Shall we?” he asked.

“You want to dance with me?” she returned.

Weaver just nodded, his eyes locked on hers.

“I can honestly say that nothing would make me happier in this moment than to dance with you.”

Isabelle took his hand with a grin and he slipped his arm about her waist, pulling her against his chest, her right hand cradled in his left. They began to sway slowly to the music, turning together in small circles.

It was silent for a moment, just the sound of the music and their steps against the wooden floorboards as they moved around the room together. He was a good dancer, Isabelle realized, light on his feet in a way she hadn’t expected. He twirled her around before dipping her back and they both laughed at the absurdity of it before he pulled her back up, her chest pressed against his. Her breath hitched at the look in his dark eyes as the smile slipped from his lips, full of unguarded wonder. No one had ever looked at her like that, not even Nick. She was overwhelmed for a moment by the sheer amount of love in that gaze. She didn’t deserve it.

Isabelle tucked her head against his chest instead, just under his chin and Weaver ran his hand up and down her back sending tingles down her spine. She shut her eyes, swaying to the music and trying not to think too hard about all the ways she could ruin this. They needed to talk, but for now, she just wanted to dance.

For once, she had a truly excellent partner. 


End file.
